


Create New Profile

by OldChum



Category: Night at the Museum (Movies)
Genre: Bad Advice, Comedy, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 21:26:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3952369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldChum/pseuds/OldChum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Internet dating is hard enough without a bunch of historical figures trying to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Create New Profile

“You should simply state that you’re a young woman of independent income looking for a bachelor of pleasing looks, gainful employment, no student debt, and no prior wives or children out of wedlock,” said the watercolour portrait of Jane Austen.

Tilly had fetched her out of the archives, along with the charcoal sketch of the Brontë sisters, to help her put together a dating site profile. It had been almost a month since the museum had started coming to life, three weeks since she’d broken up with the boyfriend who didn’t like her ponytail, and two days since she decided she ought to put herself back in the game. Like her grandmother always used to say: “You can’t spend all your life waiting for some caveman to learn how to use the phone, Tilly. You’ve got to get out there and show off the goods.” 

“Don’t forget to mention how mysterious you are! Mystery is terribly erotic!” Charlotte Brontë chimed in.

“If it asks for information on your figure, put down ‘zaftig’ – it’s a German word. It’ll make you seem continental.” Emily added.

“Okay, let me type.” Tilly said, clicking away in the description boxes.

“Go take a picture of yourself in the fog, but don’t look _into_ the camera, look _beyond_ it!” Charlotte nodded excitedly.

“Don’t say that you work at night, that’ll make you sound like a fallen woman of faulty reputation,” Jane Austen went on, as though the Brontë girls hadn’t even spoken. “Say that you have a position of light duties at the British Museum, and mention that you’re well educated in history.”

Tilly wrinkled her nose and shook her head.

“Blokes don’t like it if you seem too smart right off.”

“Blokes are going to have to learn to handle it,” Anne Brontë scoffed. “We are now in the age of women.”

“You must never condescend to your suitors, or you’ll end up in a terrible situation based on dishonesty. It pays to be upfront about your strengths, if only to expose a potential husband’s weaknesses.”

“Again, Jane Austen, not looking for a husband,” Tilly said. “Just looking for a boyfriend.”

“She’s right though,” Emily Brontë nodded, “you ought to be honest.”

“And mysterious and sexy.”

“Don’t forget to put that you have no room in your life for a man who takes too much drink,” Anne said. “Believe me, it’s not a good idea.”

“And only accept suitors your own age!” Emily nodded.

“Or older!” Charlotte added.

“No!” All three of her fellow writers said sternly.

“Unattached older men are usually manipulative, or involved in clandestine affairs with women of means. A single, older man has remained single for a reason, and it is usually not the sort of thing one wants to tangle with. Unless he is in the military or the clergy,” Jane Austen said.

“Yeah. Then he’s probably gay,” Tilly nodded.

The women debated some more, emphasizing different points, as Tilly tried to incorporate them all into a cohesive idea of what the profile should be like.

“I’ve got it! Put on a white nightgown, let your hair down, turn out most of the lights in the Medieval Hall, and take the picture in _there_!”

“Don’t forget to add that you’re an only child. Nobody likes the prospect of freeloading siblings.”

“Yeah, but I’m not an only child.”

“Oh. Well. Put it down anyway.”

“You just said to be honest!”

“Honest about _you_ , not honest about your family. Nobody is honest about their family.”

“Make it sound like your last boyfriend was a werewolf, and you’re trying to find someone more normal but equally brooding!”

“Don’t put that, that’s stupid!”

“You’re stupid!”

“No gamblers! Put that!”

The hullabaloo had reached its crescendo, right when Lancelot walked by the information desk. He stopped, and looked, and waited. It was almost a full minute before any of the women noticed him, and once they did, a stone dead silence fell over them.

“Welcome to the information desk!” Tilly said, in her most innocent and cheerful voice, “Is everything alright?”

“What are you doing?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing much,” Tilly swallowed, failing to make eye contact.

“None of your business!” Emily called out to him.

“Get lost, home-wrecker!” Jane Austen jeered.

 His curiosity piqued, Lancelot reached to turn the screen and look at it. Desperately, Tilly grabbed the screen to keep it still. All of the portraits clamoured in distress.

“Boo! Let go of that!”

“It’s _none_ of your _business_ , Sir Lancelot!”

“Shouldn’t you be trying to steal a tablet or something?”

“Hit him in the throat with the stapler, Tilly!”

Alas, Tilly’s normal human strength was no match for the magic that flowed through Lancelot’s enchanted form, and he managed to wrestle the screen away and hold her back with one hand while he read it.

“What is this? Some sort of… advertisement… for you?”

“For your information,” Jane Austen replied imperiously, “it is a description of Tilly to be sent to eligible bachelors interested in marriage.”

Tilly’s jaw dropped.

“I cannot believe you told him that. And phrased it like that. Thanks, Jane Austen, now I want to die.”

“Ah-ha!” Lancelot said smugly, “We used to have something like this. A young noblewoman would send a portrait of herself to appeal to potential husbands in foreign courts. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Tilly. You’ve got to take steps to make sure you don’t turn into a sad old crone. I _understand_.”

The silence that fell after that was tense, and finally broke with another round of jeers from the writers.

“Staple his throat!”

“It’s not about – you’re just – you don’t understand!”

“ _You’re_ the sad old crone!”

“Pretty big talk coming from a man who has to steal other people’s wives!”

Lancelot took a bracing, confident breath, and tried to let that last one slide off.

“I’m simply offering my help,” he smiled tightly. “If you want to go fishing, why not get a salmon to tell you the kind of bait they like?”

Without waiting for Tilly’s response, Lancelot pulled up one of the extra rolling chairs and made himself comfortable.

“You know what? I think we’re sort of done with it tonight.” Tilly said, “Maybe we’ll finish up tomorrow.”

“No, no! Please!” Lancelot smiled, “It’s not an inconvenience to me at all. I _want_ to help.”

“Okay.” Tilly sighed, over the murmurs of the Brontë sisters and Jane Austen complaining about how Lancelot was going to wreck everything.

She swivelled the screen back around.

“This is something we can probably fill out with…” she glanced sideways at Lancelot, “ _everybody_ here. It wants to know my ideal date.”

“Walking on the moors at midnight,” Emily suggested.

“No! Walking on a country estate on a sunny afternoon, then back to his place for an intimate harpsichord concert!” Jane Austen said excitedly.

“A trip to the garden center, then ice cream!” Anne called out.

Lancelot’s boisterous laughter filled the air.

“Those are all horrible! No, no, no. Here’s what you say. You love to cook hearty lunches for your man while he’s out hunting, then watch him enjoy the food. Afterwards, you like to quietly listen to him talk about his day, while you try to stop your wanton lust from overtaking you. Put that the last part is difficult.”

Tilly sighed with exasperation, closed her eyes, and shook her head.

“That was absolutely wretched,” Jane Austen said.

“That wasn’t a date, that was some sort of prison sentence,” Anne declared.

It went on like that for some time, as the arguments grew, and the profile was filled out to the best of Tilly’s ability, trying to follow everyone’s advice – even Lancelot’s when it wasn’t impossibly bad. But the sheer amount of noise soon drew the attention of Ahkmenrah, who was still in the process of becoming acquainted with the halls of his new home.

“What’s going on?” The young Pharaoh asked, and was somewhat confused by the horrified moaning noise Tilly made as she dropped her head onto the desk.

“Tilly is trying to advertise for a husband, but she isn’t very good at it,” Lancelot said.

“That’s because you’re wrecking it!” Jane Austen shouted, at the very end of her tether.

Tilly took a deep breath and looked up at the latest visitor to the sideshow.

“I’m filling out a profile for online dating.”

“Oh! I used to help Larry with that!” Ahkmenrah beamed, “It usually went very well… except for that one luncheon date who stabbed his hand with her fork every time he told a joke. Do you mind if I take a look at what you’ve got?”

“Knock yourself out.” Tilly spun the screen to him.

The first thing he noticed was the selfie of Tilly throwing up deuces in front of a burning building. He could _almost_ see why she chose it, since her ponytail looked particularly well-curled. Then he moved on to the profile itself.

 

> **_Glamaddona30 (Tilly)_ **
> 
> **_Seeking:_ ** _A gainfully employed gentleman of reasonable income, rocking bod, no boozers, no gamblers, no baby daddies, no married blokes. Must like lady authors._
> 
> **_Within:_ ** _The London Area_
> 
> **_Relationship Status:_ ** _Newly single_
> 
> **_Body Type:_ ** _Zaftig and super hot_
> 
> **_Height:_ ** _5’4”_
> 
> **_Eyes:_ ** _Blue as the lakes of Camelot at dawn_
> 
> **_Hair:_ ** _Golden_
> 
> **_My Idea of a Great Date:_ ** _Walking around lawns and beaches and haunted fields, then hitting the garden center for ice cream and trying to suppress my lust. The last part is pretty tricky._
> 
> **_About Me:_ ** _I’m a fun loving buxom lass currently holding a mysterious job with the British Museum. The museum is my life, so if you don’t like history, better get on your bike right now. I can arrange flowers, order food from a variety of restaurants, recite the plots of many television programmes, and play the harpsichord. I’m an only child with dead parents and secret hobbies that take up a lot of my time, so I’m really looking for something casual. I used to own a cat, but it got better food from the neighbours who put out dishes for strays, and it went to live with them. Open to messages from brooding loners._

 

Ahkmenrah looked at Tilly, and then back at the profile. He opened his mouth to say something, but never did.

Finally, Tilly asked:

“Is it really terrible?”

“That depends. Do you like dating psychopaths who lure women off of dating sites just to murder them?”

Tilly shook her head. “No, that’s not really what I’m looking for.”

“Then you need to change everything,” he swivelled the screen back towards her, and gave her an encouraging smile. “Try putting that you love adventure and are looking for a partner in crime?”

This suggestion started the cacophony up once more.

“That’s terrible! _Everybody_ loves adventure, that’s like saying I like to breathe the air!”

“Don’t tell strange men you’re interested in criminal activities! Think of your reputation!”

“Put the bit about werewolves back in!”

“Don’t forget to list your favourite operas!”

“Change the picture to one of you looking wistfully out of a train window!”

“Imply that you’re likely to come into a sizeable inheritance!”

“Don’t forget to say that men who have not slain questing beasts need not apply. The last thing we need around here is some dandy daffodil coming to spend evenings with you and getting eaten by the xiangliu!”

“Do _not_ mention the magic museum, Tilly.”

“Or do! Mention it a lot!”

Tilly deleted everything on the profile, switched off the monitor and put her head back down on the desk as the argument raged around her.

Some activities were better suited to daylight hours.

**Author's Note:**

> I really enjoyed writing Tilly, and have an idea purcolating for a longer British Museum piece. So don't be at all surprised to see a multi-chap sequel to this in the near future...


End file.
